


Uprising

by Annie46fic



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Evil Sam Winchester, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-05
Updated: 2013-08-05
Packaged: 2017-12-22 11:23:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,229
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/912623
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Annie46fic/pseuds/Annie46fic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam gets Dean out of hell but not in the way he expected.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Uprising

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the [Evil Sam Summer Challenge](http://evilsam-spn.livejournal.com/)
> 
> My prompt was ‘Night on Bald Mountain by Mussorgsky’ which you can listen to [here](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iCEDfZgDPS8)
> 
> I wanted to do something swooping and exciting like the music – so hopefully this will fulfill the brief! Goes AU from the end of Season 3.

Dean had an unfortunate soul on the rack when he felt the pull. 

 

There was no resisting it; the strength of it virtually knocked him off of his feet, his teeth gritting tight against his tongue, salted and bloodied, his red stained hands lifting as if he could hold it off, as if he could resist.

He was rising, up and up, the other blackened souls going along with him, all of them surging towards a bright orange light. Dean clenched his jaw and held back his scream, the Earth cracked and they were free.

Demons are skittish things when they aren’t in a meat suit; black smoke swelling and heaving, wrapping itself around trees, a demonic storm making the entire world shake. 

Dean still had eyes, still had consciousness; the pull had him in its thrall and he wanted to see, wanted to know who or what was doing this to him, to them. Screams of horror echoed in his head, screams from souls with no mouths and it was terrible and yet almost savagely beautiful.

The graveyard was old, wrecked; no one had been buried there since the days of the old west. Dirt rose up and skittered across the bumps and lumps that lay beneath rickety wooden crosses, cracked stones, the writing worn thin by the elements. Lightening flashed, thunder roared and everything shook. It was like nothing Dean had seen or felt before; it was like dying all over again, his soul almost ripped apart by the force of it.

At the highest part of the bone-yard there was a figure, tall and straight, arms out straight, beckoning. The man was naked, muscles and tendons stark against tanned skin, flat abdomen and taut thighs, a picture of magnificence. Long hair blew around high boned cheeks and slanted fox like eyes remained closed. The man’s face was passive, familiar, loved.

Sam was drawing them, pulling them, out of hell and forcing them onwards. Sam was controlling them and there was no escape.

****

At first, when Ruby taught him, it hurt like hell.

The headaches and nosebleeds were almost unbearable and he had no control over them or his own body. Many demons felt the sharp plunge of Ruby’s knife, not many made it back to hell. 

He drank; whiskey and tequila until he was blind with it. He cried, wept, angry snot riddled tears; he was like a child again, wanting his big brother, wanting the comfort and safety that Dean brought. But Dean was in hell and it was all Sam’s fault. Sam didn’t do his job, he didn’t kill Jake when he should have, didn’t bash his brains in with a rusty piece of metal. If he had that time again now, he would do it, he would beat Jake senseless, see the pulpy mass of his insides. He was grieving and he was angry and if Ruby hadn’t saved him he would be dead at his own hand.

As the pain receded he got better; he could pull demons with his mind and it felt good. None of them told him much in regard to his brother, none of them cared that he was lonely or afraid. Every time he sent one back, every time he watched them plunge downwards, he got a jolt of pure pleasure, something he hadn’t felt in a very long time. He stopped drinking and, eventually, he stopped grieving. Instead he planned, cunning and in secret, all of his youth and innocence stripped away, the switches yellow-eyes planted in his brain tripping one after the other, until there was very little of Sam Winchester left inside.

Lilith died at his hand and the apocalypse started; Ruby was triumphant when she saw her master rise but Sam would have none of it. She was a skanky demon bitch who had played him and he wanted nothing more of her. He delighted in pulling her from her body, delighted in sending her back to where she had come from. He hoped she would suffer there and he prayed to whatever God served him now that she would be in agony for eternity.

****

The demons gathered around Sam’s head, black cloud thick, cloying. Dean fought his way forward, the pull making it easy for him, Sam pulling him in closer and as he got there he felt Sam’s power envelop him, strong and determined.

 

Sam looked taller, leaner, a God amongst men. Dean had never seen his little brother like this and he was suddenly afraid, afraid of what he had become, afraid of what Sam had become.

Sam raised his hands and the cloud of demons roared upwards, screaming in terror and pain. Sam’s other hand reached up and he cupped Dean’s _essence_ in his palm. Despite the fact he had no body Dean felt himself shudder, smoke undulating through long, familiar fingers. Sam laughed, not the deep belly laugh Dean remembered, but a short, sharp snicker.

“I got you out,” Sam spoke for the first time, low, and commanding. “You are mine. You belong to me, I did this for you.”

Above them the storm is raging, silver shoots through the black cloud of demons, thunder rumbles, the dead beneath them start to claw through the earth, grinning skulls appear above the ruined graves, fleshless fingers scrabble and the bodies rise, their sightless, hollow eyes turned towards Sam.

Dean couldn’t speak, he had no body, he had no control. The part of him that was still human was panicking, trying to pull away. Sam laughed again, that cruel sniggering laugh and Dean realized that this was not the brother he had sold his soul for.

“We’ll find you a body Dean, find you a meat suit. I won’t kill you like I did the others. I won’t make you suffer or send you back to hell. You’ll be my right hand man, Dean. You'll be my wing-man. We’ll rule together.”

Dean wanted to cry out, to tug away, he even wanted to go back to hell but he knew that there was no way that was happening. Sam held him in his thrall, Sam who had all the control. 

“This is it Dean.” Sam held him closer in his palm, Dean fluttering ineffectually inside. “This is the end of the world as we know it.”

And Sam opened his yellow eyes and laughed, head tipped back, body taut, black wings unfolding behind him, a mess of pure splendor and malevolent intent. He soared upwards directly into the storm, electric currents, screaming demons and huge droplets of wet, hot rain.

Dean wondered where the angels were, wondered if there shouldn’t be some way of stopping all of this. Sam was good once, Sam was a hunter, one of the good guys and Dean – Dean had given everything for Sam and now . . . .

“The angels are dead Dean, and Lucifer along with them. I destroyed everything that stood in my way, stood between you and me. You are my brother Dean and I can’t do this alone,” he laughed then. “And I don’t want too.”

Dean felt his essence go limp inside the warmth of Sam’s grasp. He was rising above the storm now and there was no turning back, nothing Dean could do but watch as Sam snapped his fingers and released a hoard of demons on an unsuspecting world.

End


End file.
